Kisses
by hagiga
Summary: Kinda a continuation/parallel to my last fanfic 'Hand In Hand'


Why? Why on Christmas?

Sherlock Holmes was never good with timing.

Molly Hooper was never good with standing up for herself.

The first time they shared a kiss was after he confronted her, reassuring her she was just the ordinary, unattractive, pathetic woman she thought she was.

The confrontation was no surprise.

The apology was odd.

The kiss, the brief warmth on her cheek, sent heat waves through her body.

That night she lay in bed, _this was the first time he kissed her_.

'_I guess on the cheek will have to do…_'

* * *

The second kiss was after she killed him.

Sherlock Holmes was officially dead, and he was eternally grateful for his pathologist.

He stood in the morgue, sorting out information in his mind palace.

When Molly Hooper entered the room, he dismissed thinking about what supplies he'll have to buy when reaching his first destination, and began planning an appropriate manner of thanking her.

He went through her cataloged reactions during the time he knew her, keeping them for _purely_ selfish reasons (he reassured himself.)

_Flushed cheeks, shortness of breath, dilation of eyes, a kiss. _

So before he left, the dead detective leaned down and pressed his mouth to her brow.

He was gone before the same heat waves as with the first kiss managed to travel all the way down to her toes.

* * *

The past four months have been a mass of suffering, crying, and lying.

And it was all because of Sherlock, Sherlock and _his _problems.

She remembers a co-worker reminding her how she's wrapped around his little finger.

'_Just don't let it get out of hand Molly. What, if he asks you to jump off of a building would you do so?_'

Now she wonders if helping _him_ jump off a building applies to the same out-of-hand situation her friend warned her about.

So those four months after the great fall passed, and there he showed up at her door, cold, dripping wet and bloody.

After a handful of criticism on her stitching skills, several pained hisses and a decent amount of painkillers, Sherlock Holmes was finally lying on the sofa, wrapped in several soft blankets, fast-asleep.

She looked down at his form, feeling like a mother whose child came back from a hard day at school. For once since his fall, she felt in control.

So this time, _she_ bent down and _she_ kissed _him_ on the corner of _his_ brow.

And that was the third kiss.

* * *

"You're back…" She smiles across the little table of the coffee store.

He spins the cup of coffee on the table and says "Yes.", the side of his mouth twitching.

Her gaze drops to his cupid bow, 3 years have passed, she still longed to trace those lips with her own.

He followed her gaze, licking his lips, watching her shift in her seat and look back at his eyes.

They left the café together, and walked to her apartment.

She stood at the top of the stairs of her apartment, unlocked the door, turned around and bid him goodbye.

Before she walked through the door, she felt a hand wrapping around her wrist.

She turned to see him playing with her fingers, studying them and the back of her hand with his eyes.

He raised her hand to his lips, closed his eyes and indulged in the sound of her soft gasp as he kissed her soft knuckles.

This was the fourth kiss.

* * *

Since then, they've gone to the same café and walked the same walk, but another kiss hasn't occurred for some time…

Several weeks went by, she felt like with each time they spent at the café the distance they kept from each other decreased.

Today she pulled her seat so close to his that she felt a momentary urge to simply ditch her chair and hop onto his lap, his throaty chuckles and gleaming eyes did not help holding her back, only her self control made it possible.

And then they walked to her apartment, they practically leaned against each other as they walked.

She wanted to grab his arms and put her head against his bicep.

He wanted to put a hand around her shoulders and bury his nose against her hair.

Their hand ached with a need to tangle together. Yes, they felt pathetic.

It was all too much, when she stood on the top of the stairs to her apartment, and turned to look at him with a pair of giant doe-brown eyes, he simply walked the one last step and caught her pair of lips with his own.

She gasped against his mouth, he took the opportunity to snake his arms around her waist and urged her into her apartment, shutting the door closed and pressing her against it.

She wove her fingers through his curls while his palms slipped under her shirt and held her hips.

They pulled away.

She smiled at him, watching him grin as well.

That was the fifth kiss, and with another seal of the lips was came the sixth kiss, then the seventh… then the eighth…


End file.
